FUCK EXPLORERERER

I haven't written on the ol' blog in a while, so I am going to spit some real-talk psychedelic boredom bullshit aka regular bullshit.


"Let's talk about firewood."


But really let's talk about some hip new music of late, some jams I've been digging.
First of all there is the slew of Slothbear side projects. The first release has been made by Ian's new band Fuck Explorer, whose myspace url I assume to be /fuckexplorer, but am too unmotivated to check out. When I said Ian was in the band I was joking, Fuck Explorer is the next evolution in the duel lefty-guitar partnership of true Slothpal Henry "I'm Irish-Catholic, Steph, I Swear! Do I Look Jewish To You? Good, Cuz I'm Not!" Schiller and Craig "The Rock Johnson" Heed. What started out as a glam band Sexual Exploration become an avant garde band Sexual Explorer, which I decided I would rename Fuck Explorer (cock rock tropicalia a la Sbear), in a truly visionary malapropism. Since Craig is unable to see spatially I joined the band so that their live show (not OUR live show, personally I don't consider myself a member of Fuck Explorer; I am too busy reading comic books in a public restroom wearing a Chewbacca mask to partake in such trivial activities) could be elevated about two goofballs playing acoustic covers of "Wonderwall" (the catch being that Craig played it with his capo on the third fret and Henry played it with his capo clipped to his left nipple). I bought the boys amplifiers with my associate Shawn Boiii (total slut) and taught them what feedback was. Craig had never heard of it despite employing it extensively on many Slothbear hits. When I told him "just do it like D-jam" he looked up at me bewildered. I was in the bathroom at SUNY Stony Brook's UCAF, a place Slothbear plays when we need to get our dees double you, reading an issue of VENOM written by Kevin Smith through the small slits in my Wookie mask, when I leapt from the urinal and took the stage, wearing nothing but jeans and sneakers. A man cannot read comics in Star Wars attire wearing a shirt especially not in a public bathroom. Long story short, they wowed people, particularly that attractive bartender who I don't think was working that night. You know. Kenny. My shoulder hair was incandescent in the lime light. Their EP was recorded last week from two cities. Henry and Craig recorded the sounds in Valley Stream and I sat shirtless in Roslyn Heights. I haven't listened to it and I never will.